Technologically Cursed
by Xaja Silversheen
Summary: When one lives in such a technologically advanced world, one would expected to have some skill with computers... unlike Obi-Wan....


**DISCLAIMER:**** *on the phone with the Big Publishing Company* Yes, I do own Star Wars… See, I have this One Ring of Power that allows me all copyright privileges to great works of literary and film arts…*Mafia (with lightsabres, oddly enough) hired by George Lucas break through my window and make off with the Ring* HEY! My Ring's been stolen… stupid Lucas!!**

**As I think you can guess, I don't own Star Wars. George Lucas does… for now… MWAHAHAHA-*ahem***

**I was chatting with a Lord Of The Rings buddy about how technologically cursed we are, and, well, the plot bunny was unleashed in my mind. Virtually everything that happens to Obi-Wan in this story has happened to me in real life. Obi knows my pain, ha ha!**

**Anyways… enjoy the drabble! Reviews appreciated!**

**(I'll work on "Inner Death" and "Seriously? Why me?" after I appease this plot bunny… it's holding my other muses hostage at the moment…)**

Obi-Wan Kenobi entered the small apartment he shared with his Master, the legendary Qui-Gon Jinn. "Master? Are you in here?" He set his over-stuffed book bag on the chair by the doorway and walked into the kitchenette, hearing the door slide shut behind him. "Master?"

He jumped as his Master stuck his head out of his bedroom. "I'm right here, Padawan. How was your day?"

Obi-Wan made a face, his Jedi cool broken but for a moment. "It was all right until Master Tsaren gave us a research essay on the Kashyyyk System, due tomorrow. She wants it five pages, double spaced, typed, standard Coruscanti font. Unfortunately, this is the day my data-pad is in for repairs to the screen. May I use your computer for this essay, Master?"

Qui-Gon nodded, sympathizing with his Padawan's predicament. "Certainly, Obi-Wan. Just be warned, it's been acting up recently. If you have any problems, let me know."

"Thank you, Master!" Obi-Wan turned back to retrieve his book bag with his study material before entering the living area of the apartment, the location of Qui-Gon's computer.

It was a large monstrosity, taking up the entire desk it was perched on. An ominous-sounding hum always resonated from the machine, sometimes overriding the music Qui-Gon would sometimes play from its speakers. The black monitor stared out balefully at Obi-Wan as the teenager approached the desk, sliding into the comfortable chair in front of the computer. Or, at least, tried sliding into the chair. "Sith!"

"Everything all right, Padawan?" Qui-Gon's voice came faintly from his bedroom, worry mixed with amusement in his tone.

Obi-Wan winced as he got up from the floor, rubbing his elbow from where it had made contact with the hard corner of the desk. "I'm fine, Master." With that, he gingerly seated himself onto the chair before reaching down and hitting the power button on the main console of the computer.

With a growl, the Machine started up. Lights blinked on the keyboard. White letters appeared on the screen, spelling out necessary programs. A pause, then the letters faded, replaced by a screensaver featuring the emblem of the Jedi Council. A box appeared in the centre of the image.

________________________

| PASSWORD:_ |

Obi-Wan frowned. "Master, what's your password?"

"My password?" Qui-Gon's head appeared in the doorway. "Oh, I just changed it… what was the new one? Hmm…" He reached around Obi-Wan's shoulders, reaching for the keyboard. Obi-Wan watched his Master's fingers hit the letters. M-A-S-T-E-R.

INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

"Incorrect? I was sure that was it…" Qui-Gon thought for a moment before typing again. J-E-D-I.

INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

"That's odd."

"What was your old one, Master?"

"It was 'Padawan'. Maybe it'll still work…"

INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

"Sithspit!"

"I thought Masters were supposed to be a good example of a Jedi to their Padawans, Master."

"Oh, be quiet."

"Yes, Master. What about 'lightsabre'?"

INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

"Curses."

"It wouldn't be 'Kenobi', would it?"

INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

"Well, I've been wrong before, I guess."

"No comment. Maybe it was 'Windu'…"

INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

"Tahl?"

INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

This continued for upwards of fifteen minutes, until Obi-Wan guessed "Knight?"

WELCOME, QUI-GON. LOADING YOUR PERSONAL SETTINGS.

"Finally!" groaned Qui-Gon as he backed away from the computer, stretching his sore shoulder muscles. "I'm never changing my password again!"

Obi-Wan reached around for the mouse. "Thank you, Master."

Qui-Gon moved towards the door, probably making a bid for freedom before the computer decided to antagonize his Padawan any further. "Don't mention it."

As soon as the computer finished loading, Obi-Wan opened up two programs; one for the word processor, the other connecting to the Holonet for research. He waited patiently for the pages to load…

And waited…

And waited….

"Master, is the Holonet usually this slow?"

"How slow is 'slow'?" There was the sound of pans clattering in the kitchen.

"I opened up the browser ten minutes ago and it's still loading!"

"What?" Qui-Gon's shadow fell across the doorway again. "Which Holonet service provider are you connected to?"

"I assume whichever one is the default for the Temple, Master."

Qui-Gon reached around Obi-Wan's shoulders again, taking control of the mouse. He scrolled down to the control panel at the bottom of the screen, clicking on the little connection tab at the bottom. After almost five minutes of rapidly flicking through various administrative tasks on the computer, too fast for Obi-Wan to register, Qui-Gon finally stepped away. "I have no idea what's wrong with the Holonet today, Padawan. I guess you'll just have to wait for your research page to load."

Obi-Wan groaned before inspiration struck him. "Master, have you ever been to the Kashyyyk system?"

"No, Padawan, I have not."

"Sith!"

"Language, Obi-Wan. The Archives might have something on that system, though. Why don't you try that?"

"Thank you, Master!" Obi-Wan clicked off the Holonet and raced off to the Jedi Archives in his pursuit of research material.

***

_15 Minutes Later…_

Obi-Wan arrived in the Archives, breathing hard from his run across the Temple. Bowing politely to the librarian, and trying to ignore her warning glare, he trotted off down one of the many aisles in the Archives, trying to find something on the Kashyyyk System.

"Obi-Wan!" Garen waved from a table in a back corner of the Archives. Seated nearby were Bant, Reeft, and Zara, Padawans from Obi-Wan's class. They were surrounded by an assortment of files and texts about the Kashyyyk System.

Obi-Wan slid into the only available chair- or tried to. "Sith, not again!"

A highly amused Zara looked down at Obi-Wan, who lay in a heap next to her chair. "Again, you say? Do tell!"

Obi-Wan scowled at the red-head as he dragged himself into the chair. "Don't ask." He tried to ignore the giggles coming from the girls. "What have you found so far?"

Reeft looked up, speaking around a mouthful of muja fruit. "Lots of stuff about the system. In fact, we've got everything except their current economic situation. I think we need the Holonet for that."

"I can look for that." Obi-Wan stood up again, moving to a computer port near the table. "I was trying to research on my Master's computer, but that was going nowhere fast." He (carefully) sat in the chair and switched on the Holonet browser. He waited for the screen to load.

And waited.

And waited.

"Force, does the Holonet just hate me today?!"

"What?" Bant came over to Obi-Wan, looking over his shoulder. "It shouldn't be this slow!" She looked up and caught the librarian's eye. "Master Nu!"

Jocasta Nu came over at the Mon Calmarian's summons. "Yes, Padawan Eerin?"

"Master," spoke up Obi-Wan, "we seem to be having problems with the Holonet. It's acting much slower then usual."

Master Nu frowned. "I've heard of no other problems with the Holonet. Did you change any of the settings?" Without waiting for an answer, she lightly shoved Obi-Wan out of the way as she accessed the computer's connection settings.

Five minutes later, she stood up, shaking her head in a bewildered fashion. "I'm sorry, Padawan Kenobi, but I see no problems with the computer. Maybe you should try a different workstation."

Obi-Wan bowed. "Thank you, Master." He turned back to the table, where his friends sat quietly, looking as confused as he felt. "Why me?"

Garen frowned. "Maybe you're just technologically cursed, Obi."

"That wouldn't surprise me."

Zara stood up. "How about if I look up the information on the 'net, and Obi-Wan writes it down?"

Obi-Wan brightened. "That might work!" The two walked over to another workstation, where Zara opened up another Holonet browser. The two waited for the page to load.

And waited.

"Um", Obi-Wan spoke up, "maybe I should step away from the computer, if I'm as technologically cursed as Garen thinks I am."

"Good idea."

Of course, as soon as Obi-Wan went back to the table, Zara waved him back over. "It's working! I'm on the site I need. What do I need to look up?"

Obi-Wan looked at the sheet Reeft had given him, trying to see past the muja stains. "Umm, we need main exports, market systems, trade regulations…"

Half an hour later, Zara stood up, rubbing her eyes. "I can't stare at that screen anymore, I'm getting a headache."

Obi-Wan looked up from where he was writing on a piece of paper. "Are you sure that's not your Master with the Youngling's lightsabre class who has the headache?"

Zara hesitated before shaking her head. "Nope, the headache is all mine. Your turn to type!"

Obi-Wan, forgetting his curse, sat down and opened up the word processor. That loaded without a fuss. He began typing, glancing down at his sheet of paper. Zara moved back to the table as Garen sat down at the next workstation. For a while, the two worked, sharing the same information until, with a buzz and a sound of dying electrical equipment, the Archives went dark.

Obi-Wan yelped as his essay disappeared. "Sithspit!"

Garen sat back, a look of dismay on his face. "You and me both, Obi. Why did the Temple pick now to lose power?"

Jocasta Nu was moving through the ranks of Jedi staring at their blank screens with looks of indignation. "Don't worry, the computers will be back up as soon as the power comes back on. You can resume whatever your working on then."

True enough, a few moments later, the lights turned back on. With loud rumbles, the computers reactivated themselves, much to the relief of their users. Almost everyone, Garen included, was able to recover their files.

'Almost everyone' didn't include Obi-Wan.

"Sith! Now I have to start over!"

***

_Two Hours Later…_

Obi-Wan saved his nearly-completed essay to his memory card, turned off the computer and stood up, stretching. Beside him, Bant, who had been working on her own essay since Garen had finished, groaned and rubbed her forehead. "I don't want to work any more on this essay! I've learned everything I need to about the Kashyyyk System!"

"I couldn't agree with you more, Bant. Why Master Tsaren thinks this is a good essay topic is beyond me!"

Reeft stuck his head between the two Padawans. "I can't work anymore on an empty stomach, and I think the Archives are closing soon anyways. I'll work on mine tonight at home, how about you?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "If I can get my Master's computer to work, I'll do that." He was interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling. "… Of course, that will be after dinner."

Zara looked up from where she was printing off the final copy of her essay. "Good plan. I hope your technological curse wears off soon!"

That earned a groan from Obi-Wan. "Me too!"

***

_One Hour Later…_

Obi-Wan would have assisted with the dinner dishes, but Qui-Gon shooed him off to the living room to work on the essay. The teen wasn't complaining too much though… the casserole his Master had created, while delicious, took forever to clean out of the pan it had been baked in.

He entered the room and prepared to slide into the chair before remembering the bruises on his elbows, and instead gingerly sitting down. "Master, did you turn off the computer?"

"Yes, it was making odd sounds. It should be fine now though."

"Thank you, Master. The password's still 'Knight', right?"

"It should be, unless you changed it."

"I don't know, Master. If I'm as cursed as Garen thinks I am, the computer will have changed its password by itself!" Obi-Wan bent down and hit the power button. And waited.

And waited.

With a frown, he hit the button again.

The screen remained stubbornly blank.

"Umm… Master?"

"Yes, Padawan?"

"The computer's not turning on!"

"What?!"

"I'm serious! There's not even a weird noise this time, there's just nothing!"

Qui-Gon appeared in the doorway, hands covered in suds and casserole bits. "That shouldn't be the case… Try hitting the power bar that the computer is plugged into."

Obi-Wan bent under the desk, seeking out the power bar's red light from its switch. He hit the switch, softly counted to five under his breath, and turned it back on.

The printer hummed back to life.

The speakers crackled with electricity.

The screen remained black, as the main body of the computer began to vibrate madly, a loud ominous roar resonating from it. Obi-Wan backed away from the desk, alarmed. "Master!"

Qui-Gon hurried back to the door. "Turn the power bar off again, and keep it off this time!"

Obi-Wan crouched again, warily watching the Machine as he felt around for the power bar. He sighed with relief as the computer went still, and stood back up, only to go back down as the back of his head met the edge of the desk. "Sith!"

"Are you alright, Padawan?"

"No Master, I think the computer has killed me."

Qui-Gon knelt next to the teen, shaking his head before checking the lump on Obi-Wan's head. "Maybe Garen was right and you are technologically cursed, Padawan."

Obi-Wan winced as the sudsy fingers probed his sore head. "I think he's right, Master. I wonder how I'm going to explain this to Master Tsaren tomorrow!"

***

_The Next Day_…

Master Tsaren called the class to attention, letting the class droid take attendance as she took in the assignments from yesterday.

Reeft handed his in, slightly stained with the remainder of his breakfast.

Bant handed hers in, slightly moist from her room's specific climate conditions.

Garen's came in smelling slightly of ship fuel from the container he said had been stored on top of his essay last night.

Zara's had a suspicious-looking lightsabre burn on it, although she claimed it had been bumped into midair during a sparring match with her Master.

Obi-Wan's was replaced with a note from Qui-Gon, explaining the lack of a working computer.

Master Tsaren noticeably paused, reading Qui-Gon's note, before turning to Obi-Wan. "Technologically cursed beyond all belief, eh?"

Obi-Wan blushed. "Yes, Master. Master Nu can vouch for me, as well as Master Jinn."

Master Tsaren scowled. "Cursed or no, you will be coming in to see me after your classes today. I have some chores you can accomplish in place of your essay."

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Yes, Master."

***

_Eight hours later…_

Obi-Wan reported for his detention after his literature class, dread hanging over him like a thick cloud. Qui-Gon had agreed at the noon meal to come down and speak with Master Tsaren about the essay, or lack thereof, but until he could escape the Council meeting he was currently in, Obi-Wan was stuck doing whatever chores his teacher thought of.

"Ah, Kenobi. Come in." Master Tsaren waved the teen into the classroom, stepping out from behind her desk. "Your Master commed me this afternoon, but I don't believe you are as technologically challenged as he claims. I want you to go on my computer and pull up your essay. You will finish it tonight before going home."

Obi-Wan hesitated. "Yes, Master. Although, you may want to be aware, your computer may not survive this detention."

Master Tsaren glared, sending the teen scurrying to the computer. He pulled his data card from his book bag and inserted it into the port on the computer's base.

LOADING DATA, PLEASE WAIT.

"See, Padawan Kenobi? There are no problems with your-"

ERROR. TROJAN BANTHA VIRUS DETECTED. FILES CONTAMINATED.

"_What?_"

"Um, that wasn't on the card last night, Master! It must have picked something up from the Archives computer."

"Oh, Force. I'm going to try opening your essay. What name did you save it under?"

"Kashyyyk System Essay."

_Click. Click._

"I don't believe it! It ate my entire essay!"

"Sithspit!" Master Tsaren backed away from the computer, a bewildered expression on her face. She looked at Obi-Wan. "Go back to your quarters, Kenobi. Ask your Master to come down and speak with me as soon as he has a free moment."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan bowed before turning and fleeing the classroom, already fumbling in his belt pouch for his comm. link.

***

_One Hour Later…_

Qui-Gon came through the apartment doors, holding the data card in his hand. "Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan came out of the kitchenette, holding a spatula in his hand. "What did Master Tsaren say?"

The older Jedi sighed. "She's giving you a free mark on the essay, Padawan, since you won't have time to make it up. She isn't at all thrilled, however, since the virus on your essay ate all the files on her computer."

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped. "_All_ the files, Master?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Everything. We have also come to the agreement that you are never, _ever_ typing out another essay again. I hope your handwriting's neat, Padawan."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon turned towards his bedroom, but paused and looked at Obi-Wan. "And, Obi-Wan, don't _ever_ volunteer yourself to aid someone with a computer problem. Promise me?"

The teen smiled. "Yes, Master. I promise."

**Just about everything that has happened to Obi-Wan has happened to me sometime… usually at work, although I lost a good English assignment to a virus on my computer…**

**Whatcha think? Leave a review, tell me how much you sympathize with me! (Or how much you are laughing at me, whichever the case may be)**

**All right, maybe this plot bunny will release my other muses for "Inner Death" and "Seriously?" now… *bunny hisses at me* Or not…**

**Later, peebs!**

**~Xaja**


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